Lessons to Learn
by IllusoryCalm
Summary: Formerly know as "Lessons of Gratitude" It s all about the details. What, if you just change one, two small things and then explore what will happen? This fic is settled after the bred riot in ACOK. It follows the book, not the TV series, but there are some slight changes made. Also posted on AO3. I m not a native speaker and sorry about the errors you undoubtedly will find!
1. Insight

"I´m honest. It´s the world that´s awful. Now fly away, little bird, I´m sick of you peeping at me." Wordless, she fled.

George R.R. Martin – A Clash of Kings

She fled down the stairs she just had climbed, her heart and mind racing madly, her eyes burning traitorously. She hurried trough abandoned hallways until she reached her chambers, slamming the door after her. When she almost collided with a startled Shae, Sansa stopped dead in her tracks and took the first deep breath since her encounter with Sandor Clegane on the roof. Her hands trembled slightly and she felt cold sweat on her neck and upper back. Combined with her burning hot cheeks and some loose red tendrils, which had escaped her braid, she must have been a disturbing sight.

"Gods child, what happened to you?" Shae whispered, her brows furrowed in sorrow. The handmaiden quickly put some gowns she had been folding aside and hurried closer. Her gaze swept critically over Sansa, seemingly searching for wounds or bruises, Sansa noted with a sting of guilt.

As a lady born and bred, Sansa wasn´t one to trow a fit easily. Usually, she was on her best behavior, always polite and obedient, as was expected of a lady in her social position. But she had just survived a raging mob, and felt like a bundle of nerves since. She hadn´t told Shae, but the nightmares of her father´s beheading had only gotten worse after what happened at the bred-riot. The last two days, she hardly found sleep and ate only when forced to. As if that wasn´t enough, every single day in court felt like running the gauntlet. Stares and whispers accompanied her wherever she went. Sometimes, they didn´t even bother if she heard them. Nobody seemed to have a kind word for her. People who couldn´t wait to befriend Sansa a moon ago now shunned her openly. Some looked at her with pity rather than malice, but they wouldn´t risk to be associated with the 'traitor´s spawn'. It hurt. A lot. The scene with Clegane was only the last straw to broke the camel´s back.

All of her pent-up frustration unloaded at once. "Oh, he is just so AWFUL! I mean really, how can someone be so... so... so... urgh!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, at loss for words.

"Who is _he_? Joffrey?" Shae asked further, seemingly getting annoyed by her behavior.

"No, not him, for once. The Hound!" Sansa bristled with anger. With an unladylike snort, she flopped onto her bed, and gathered some pillows under her head. Gods, she knew she behaved childishly, but she just felt like pouting. Her eyes still stung from anger and frustration, and she swore her cheeks had never burned hotter.

A slap on her wrist finally directed her attention back to Shae. "Oh for the love of all the gods old and new, pull yourself together! It´s very much unlike you to throw such a temper tantrum, and frankly, it doesn´t suit you. Now stop fussing around and tell me what happened."

Startled, Sansa considered her for a brief moment with her big Tully–blue eyes, then sighed in defeat. Granted, she knew Shae was right. Throwing a fit would bring her nowhere. Bad enough she had failed horribly in her argument with the kings dog. No need to make a fool of herself in front of the only woman she felt she could trust in this godforsaken city.

And so she calmed herself and began, bit by bit, to retell the incident with the oh-so ingrate Hound. How he had caught her wandering on the roof and nearly scared her to death. She left out the part, were she nearly fell off the battlements, because gods knew Shae would reproach her, if she did. Instead, she recounted how the Hound had mocked her for her inability to look at his face and remembered her `she was happy enough` to see it when the mob ranted and raved at her. That she had tried to thank him and how brusquely he had denied her. And then, because she was unable to stop, she also told her about the handkerchief, the cloak, the advice and the lie the hound had given her.

„... you see? I just wanted to thank him and he mocked and lectured me as if I was a dumb little child! He is so shockingly brute..." Sansa lamented, but came to a sudden stop, when Shae´s eyes flashed. Had the handmaiden just _rolled her eyes_ at her?

Overall, Shae didn´t seem surprised at all about the Hounds brutish behavior, and Sansa wondered why.

Of course, Sansa couldn´t know what her handmaiden knew, sweet little thing that she was. But Shae had a fairly good idea, which kind of man Sandor Clegane was. She had spent most of her time with warriors, sellswords, even some knights... and with their whores.

The Hound was a lonesome man with few joys in life. A brute with no more manners than necessary, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, a loyal dog to his king, a man you better not glance at too long and, if truth was be told, the best sort of customer a prostitute could have. The whores feared his burns and his gruff manners, but it was said that he was gentle enough, well-groomed and that he gave adequate payment. Not like some of his knightly colleagues like Ser Meryn Trant, whose sexual preferences gave even Shae goosebumps or Ser Arys Oakheart, who was known for trying to beat down the price, even to bilk, despite the fact that he liked to demand extra efforts from the girls he took to his chambers.

In short, Sansa was the Hounds opposite in every way possible.

„The only shocking thing is, that you expected any other outcome. You are lucky he didn´t rip your head off! He is not some knight out of a song, who slays dragons to saves fair maidens. They don´t call him 'the Hound' for nothing. So the main question should be: Why does it bother you?" Shae stated matter-of-factly, her tone bored, almost mocking.

Astounded, Sansa blinked at Shae, her lips slightly agape and eyes wide, as she tried to grasp the handmaidens words. Sansa had expected more compassion in her favour, and felt shocked by the fact Shae did not side with her.

As she answered, her voice sounded touchy even to her own ears.

"I just wanted to thank him, simple as that. What´s so hard about accepting some honest gratitude?" she argued her point.

At that, Shae quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Well, that depends. Was it _honest gratitude_?"

Indignant now, Sansa shot back. "Of course! He saved my life!"

"And that´s why you did not went straight to him, but waited till you meet him randomly, days later?" Shae drawled, smiling smugly.

Before Sansa could even give that point a further thought, the handmaiden continued quietly.

"Did you know he was the only one, who could have saved you? Boros and Trant refused to leave the Red Keep when Lord Hand Tyrion ordered them to search for you. Clegane could have just saved himself, even only by foot. Joffrey told his _noble knights_ to leave you behind, coward that he is. The Hound really took a risk when saving you. Meanwhile, the other kingsguards and goldcloaks pissed themselves behind the gates. And you lack the bravery to at least look at him? He saved you from rape and probably even death. Don´t you think he deserves you face him? You don´t avoid Trants face, do you? Or Blounts? They´ve done worse to you than being a little gruff. How honest do you think gratitude appears, when the one expressing it does not even look you directly in the eye?"

A short silence stretched between the two women. Sansas mind clattered, as she processed Shae´s forceful monologue. The words _'the only one who could save you'_ replayed over and over in her head. Had she really sunk so low in Joffreys esteem, he didn´t deem her worthy of saving? And why did the Hound bother to do it anyway? He didn´t even _like_ her... right? Did he view it as a chance to prove himself? _Maybe, he just did it because he liked killing those people._ But Sansa had a feeling that was far form the truth. Finally, she shook her head in defeat. Whatever motivated him would remain a mystery. But even if only half of what Shae had said were true, her handmaiden was right. The Hound deserved that she looked upon his face, more than anyone else, no matter those rage–filled eyes.

"Ehh... probably... notveryhonest. …. I... I... didn´t know... no one told me... and... it´s not the burns.. not anymore... he is just always so... well, angry." the girl mumbled slowly as she averted her gaze. Now that she truly thought about it, she had been fatuous. The Hound had put his life on the line to save her, and she behaved as if it was an honor for him to do so, as if _he_ had to be grateful, when she decided to praise him with her thanks. And she even had the gall to be angry at him for not playing along.

Another thought flashed trough, and unable to let the matter rest, she added: "But you know I am not free to wander through the castle. And I don´t even know where his chambers are! Besides, to go there would have been highly improper... " She knew she had a point at that, but she also knew, if she wanted to, she would have found a way. She could have written a letter or send a handmaiden for him. But she had done nothing, and for that, she felt truly ungrateful.

"Though, I could have tried, at least..," she concluded bashfully.

Shae seemed to sense she had set the ball rolling, and thankfully refrained from pressing the matter further. Instead, the handmaidens slightly patted Sansas arm and let herself fall next to her on the luxurious feather-bed.

"Well, don´t break your pretty head about it. Next time, you know. Next time, you try better. You certainly didn´t break his heart, if he even has one. And besides: do you think Cersei or Joffrey ever bothered to thank him? At least, you noticed. However, it´s time for your bath now, young lady. Let´s get you out of that dress!"

And with that, Shae started to pull and push on the garbs, while Sansa got lost in her thoughts, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. _Oh mother, maiden and crone!_ She had thought herself better than Cersei and Joffrey, but it seemed as if she, in her shock and self pity, had acted with the same ignorance as them. That truly bothered her, more than the gruff words of the Hound, which she started to feel, as if she deserved them. Not all of them. He needn´t remind her of her fathers beheading, but she supposed he´d just lashed out at her, as he did at all others.

She had to set this right! After all, next to Shae and Tyrion, he was the only person in whole Kings Landing who ever showed her kindness, who gave her more than courtesy and pretty, meaningless words.

Later, Sansa sat brooding in the steaming tub, her mind circling and reflecting. Now that she thought about it, she suddenly couldn´t unsee it: all those little gestures, words and moments... the pictures came flooding back, mingling in her mind with Shaes words, puzzling themselves together. The way he gently dabbed at her split lip, moments after she tried to push Joffrey off the battlement. _She_ knew that _he_ knew she attempted to kill the golden boy king in a moment of blind fury. But he covered up for her, instead of giving Joffrey the reason he needed to take off her head as well. _'Save yourself same pain, girl. Give him what he wants.'_ Was that sadness in his voice, when she attempted to give him back his handkerchief? _'You´ll be needing that again.'_

More and more surfaced from the depths of her subconscious. That day when she had – for the slightest moment – believed him to be her father... and the way his face grew stony, emotionless, when Joffrey send him away moments later. _"And you, dog, away with you, you're scaring my betrothed._ " She felt oddly ashamed of her and Joffreys insensitive behavior, and quenched the impulse to smack her head against the back of the tub. The next memory swam before her inner eye: the vulnerability in the air, when he told her how he got his scars, the day he won her fathers tourney. And how he threatened to kill her, should she tell a single soul about it. It didn´t feel like a real threat, more as if he was surprised by himself he told her about it, and wanted to cut his losses. It was probably the only way to socialize he knew, she realized suddenly. _He received his burns at such a young age..._

Sansa couldn´t help but wonder. Had anyone protected him against revilement and his brother when he was a boy? Someone who genuinely cherished him and treated him like the person he was, not the sword he would become? Was there someone who showed him kindness and did not shy away from his disfigurement? Aside from his cruel brother, he didn´t seem to have family. At least Sansa had never heard of anyone. Also, Sansa had never seen him with a woman on his arm. Technically, the kingsguards were not allowed to marry, but that didn´t mean they lived chaste. Jaime Lannister was possibly the biggest flirt in Westeros, and everyone knew the rest of the kingsguard frequently visited brothels. But even Sansa was aware those women didn´t offer the kind of comfort she had in mind. Granted, they might satiate the most basic needs and make a man forget, maybe even feel wanted. At the end of the day though, they would leave as soon as their affections had been paid for. _What a lonely life that must be._

In summary, it was probably no surprise he kept no gods and was ill-tempered, hateful and bitter.

She tried to imagine what would have become of her, if she had been burned like him. Could she handle the disgust of everyone around, for the rest of her days? Deal with the helplessness she would be judged for something she couldn´t help nor change? Would anyone try to reach out for her and see what was behind her disfigurement? How often could she take the rejection of any man she took an interest in, before she cracked? To the autocracy, she would be worthless, unfit to marry Joffrey or anyone else. She´d have never made it to Kings Landing. But at least her family would love her, if nobody else. She´d most likely become a septa, forced to watch her siblings marry and raise their children, whilst being denied that experience herself. To a family-person like her, it would be only a slightly better fate than marring Joffrey.

Sansa finished her bath, donned small clothes and a robe and seated herself before her beautiful silver mirror, starring at the reflecting surface, but not really _seeing_ herself. Whilst she untangled her mane, she kept brooding, her mind busy reviewing certain incidents over and over again.

When Shae came back a while later to assist her, Sansa decided to seek her help.

"Oh Shae. What am I going to do? The Hound will only be harder on me after today! How could I be so blind to his efforts?"

Suddenly, she felt like crying. What would she give to see her mother now! She wanted to ask her so many things, not all of them concerning Sandor Clegane. Catelyn Stark would know what to do, give her advice with that unfailing wisdom of a woman, who had born and raised five children in the grim cold of the north. But it seemed as if Sansa had to figure everything out on her own. _Well, better start step by step, then._ She could not approach the Hound and win him over with a fiery speech. Her father had been good with words, but diplomacy was lost on the Hound and he would probably just laugh until he died of a heart attack.

"Don´t think there´s much you can do. I would avoid him as long as he is in a mood." Shae answered dismissively.

When Sansas eyes got a lost look, the dark haired beauty sighed. Sansa detected some sympathy in her words, when she started to explain. "You remember his horse, that big, black beast? It was badly injured during the riot. When he found it, it was more dead than alive. The folks were so crazy about food, they tried to butcher it. What I heard today, it survived, but the veterinary is not sure if he will ever heal fully and be able to carry a rider again. The stable-master told the Hound to slaughter him, but he would have none of it."

A small smile pulled one end of Shaes full lips up. "Who would have thought he could be attached to anything, let alone a horse? But maybe, it´s just because Stannis is coming closer and closer and horses are rare. Not a nice perspective, fighting in the battle by foot, I guess. However, he is in an extra foul mood because of that, it seems. I heard he almost killed Ser Boros in the training yard today. Gave him some cracked rips and a broken nose!" Shae giggled lightly. "I heard they call him 'Ser Bulldog' now."

Sansa smirked softly at that, but her mind was already occupied. She felt very sorry for him and his horse. After all, she had witnessed herself what the starving were capable off. The young woman knew it was not her fault the horse was injured (Joffrey had ordered the Hound to dismount in the middle on a riot, not her, she would not take the blame for that), but she felt empathy for the Hound. She had lost her familiar and could tell how much it hurt. The day she lost Lady was one of the worst she had ever lived through. A piece of herself had died that day.

"Oh no, poor Stranger!" she peeped without much thought, earning a bewildered look from Shae.

"That´s the name of his horse... Stranger. I heard it when we rode from Winterfell to Kings Landing. He really is a beast, no one but the Hound can handle him. One evening, some of the young lads got drunk and tried to steal and ride him as a dare... it didn´t end well." the girl hurried to explain, a shy smile on her lips at the memory. It was said they did not even came as close as to bridle the infamous destrier. Furthermore, the fearsome Hound had refrained from punishing the young men, as he declared that his horse had done a particular good job on teaching them a thing or two.

And suddenly, Sansa was struck by an idea. An idea so bold, it was nearly ridiculous. But also, it could be the kind of gesture that... Well, it could become a striking success or the very reverse. The more she thought about it... if a wolf could not befriend a dog...

 _Kill him with kindness._ That she would do. She would shower him with kindness until he fawned!

Sansa grabbed Shaes arm in excitement and sat up abruptly. "I got it! I know how I can make it up... well... maybe. But I can´t do it on my own. Most certainly, I would have to speak to Joffrey or Cersei... " She worried her lower lip, brooding. Shae felt Sansas bravery die away, as quickly as it came, at the thought of being at the mercy of the spoken ones again, but the Lorathi was not one to be intimidated easily.

"Well, tell me. Maybe I can make myself useful." she encouraged the younger girl, obviously thrilled her lecture had made the girl use her pretty head. Sansa doubted Shae would be able to help, but started to explain nonetheless. She grew more eager, when Shae made no move to brush her idea aside and instead, listened attentively. When she ended, the dark haired woman was quiet for some seconds, then flashed Sansa a genuine smile.

"That´s far better than I expected. I can´t make any promises, but I think I know the right person to put this into practice!"


	2. Negotiation

His eyes burned from long, intense reading and caused him quite a headache, when Tyrion finally decided to give himself a break. It was early in the afternoon, but his day had already been too bloody long, with too many unpleasant tasks to cope with. His obligations as Hand of the King contained far too much sitting, writing and brooding for his liking. Not to speak of the countless meetings he had to attend! The ones that did not bore him to death, left him fretting and fuming,. Mostly because Joffrey was present at those as well and did his very best to behave like the spoiled brat he was, randomizing as much injustice as he could possibly manage. Tyrion would never have thought he of all people could wish for his fathers presence, but he did. He would hand over his temporary duties as to his genitor gladly. Also, Tywin Lannister was perhaps the only person that had the ability and power – not to forget the gold - to keep Joffrey in line.  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he reached for a wine goblet and drained it in one go. The sour taste made him grimace. Gods. Dornish red. As if his life wasn´t bitter enough. With a sigh, he put the goblet down again and stretched his stiff back and short limbs. His twisted bones cracked loundly, expressing relief. Despite the fact that he was highly intelligent, had the gift of oration and was a man of vast reading, Tyrion definitely was not born to be a pencil pusher. Ironically, the only other purpose a man of his birth could serve – being a knight in shining armor, just like his brother Jaime - suited him even worse.

Leaning back in the comfortable leather fauteuil that stood behind his enormous desk, he took a look at his day´s work. Spread out before him were dozens of important documents: rolls of parchments filled with strategies, formulas and orders, age-old tomes of various genre (but to his regret nothing that promised at least a hint of entertainment) and more maps of Kings Landing and Blackwater Bay, than he could possibly count. Some of those ancient, spore-infested maps decomposed straight under his chubby fingers and made him sneeze and cough. A few of them were so old, they did not even contain major buildings like the Sept of Baelor and the Red Keep itself. Tyrion searched them nevertheless, he was known for being someone who did nothing by halves. He needed to find every loophole and every forgotten secret passage, if he wanted to keep his loved ones safe and Stannis out.

His gaze wandered from the chaotic table to the balcony, which provided him with a great view of the city and its surroundings. The bay was illusory calm, even the seagulls seemed at rest. And he, the twisted little monkey, planned to set it all on fire. He shivered at the prospect. Nothing to wrack his brain over now. If he wanted to get rid of that damn headache, he should relax and think about something pleasant.

 _Shae._

His lips quirked into a smile. He still couldn´t put his finger on how exactly she made him agree to what was coming. Maybe, it was the way she had looked at him. Pleading. Or the way she had argued. Logically. Mature. She really had stunned him, he must admit. Not long ago, he had seen how selfish she could be, how naive. And now there she was, taking a risk for someone else. How mad he had been at first! "Have you lost your mind? I brought you in here to keep you safe. How exactly do you intend to explain that you know me so well?" - "I didn´t have to." she had countered coolly, a small smile on her lips. "I pointed out that Cersei and Joffrey would never permit it, but that you could decide as acting Hand of the King as well. She told me, that this might work because you saved her from Joffreys wrath not long ago. Also, everyone knows you have a very... let´s say, special relationship with your family. Then, I just asked her if she wanted me to arrange a meeting with you. She did not even question how I intended to do so. She´s just a little girl, who is used to people doing everything for her." Her face had been triumphant and he knew he was beaten. Reluctantly, he accepted. "Fine. I will meet her tomorrow. What will she ask of me?"  
She had squealed and thrown her long, slender arms around his short neck, pressing soft kisses on his lips. "Thank you sooo much! You won´t regret it. It´s quite a plan, but not mine to tell." The incredulous expression on his face made her laugh huskily. "But what if I tell you, how much I missed your wonderful, big, hard..."

A knock on the door brought him back to the present and interrupted his thoughts. _Damn it._ At least his blood was better dispersed than before, the headache fading.  
"Come in!" he ordered and sat up. The door creaked open, revealing Sansa Stark and Podrick Payn. The girl looked a little pale, but she wore a small smile on her pretty face and held her chin up. The news about the girls first moonblood had spread like wildfire in the castle this morning. Only a few people knew how petrified the girl had been, thanks to Cerseis fast acting. Tyrion was fully aware, that his sister had not done this for charity´s sake, but to keep up what little favorable reputation Joffrey had. It would do no good if the people mused, why the girl would rather burn her bedding than being overjoyed. He had expected the girl would cancel their meeting and sent Podrick to reschedule, but to his surprise she had insisted on seeing him today.

The girl reminded him strongly of her mother and he smirked at the comparison. He would never forget the time, when Catelyn Stark had taken him as a prisoner and carried him to the Vale.

"Lady Sansa, what a pleasant sight!" He jumped out of his chair and waddled around his desk, pointing at the comfortable sitting area on his balcony. " Please, have a seat."

She did as he bid, gifting him a polite but cautious smile as she spoke softly: "Thank you for receiving me, my Lord!"

Tyrion flashed her an honest smile, watching her as she sat down gracefully. "Anytime, my sweet Lady. I take that you are well? I hope my sister was not too forward? She tends to be overly dramatic..." he inquired, his tone considerate.

The girl flushed at that, but answered smoothly: "I´m well enough, thank you. Her grace was... most sympathetic."

He had his doubts about that, but after all she had endured, he couldn´t blame the girl for her caution. Awkwardly, he climbed on the free seat and rested his tiny hands on the small, round tea table.

"Very well. Before we get down to business: Would you care to take a snack with me? I´ve missed lunch and my stomach is killing me." She nodded hesitantly, and he noticed her fingers fumbled with the fabric of her skirts. The girl was obviously nervous, perhaps even anxious and it pained him. He wondered if she would ever trust a grown man again after all she had been through.

"That would be very nice, my Lord Hand." she chirped up curtly, lowering her eyes demurely.

"Please, to simplify the matter: Call me Tyrion." he rushed to say, trying for a good-naturally atmosphere. "Podrick, bring some fruits, bread, cheese and cold meat from the kitchens. And fetch us some sweet wine and a jar of water." The boy nodded and left the room, leaving them alone. When Sansa relaxed visibly, Tyrion realized just where her distress came from.

"You don´t have to fear him. He is one of my private employees, a good boy and a very loyal one, too. He is nothing like his sire. Whatever we discuss, it will not leave this room unless you wish for it." he soothed, his voice low and imploring. "However, our... special friend already told me, that you need my approval in an important matter concerning the Hound. So please, speak freely and enlighten me." Shae had refused to tell him any details, and to say he was curious would have been an understatement.

The girl took a deep breath, as if to gather her courage, then lifted her eyes to face him fully. "Because he saved my life, I intend to give Sandor Clegane a special gift, which could improve his current situation. The thing is: I don´t know if what I plan to give him still... well, belongs to me. You have to tell me if I am free to do with it whatever pleases me."

When he didn´t interrupt her and simply nodded, she started to explain. Tyrion listened with growing respect. He noticed how smartly she brought forward her arguments, how well-thought-out her plan was. He could hardly believe this was the plan of a teenage girl. She had thought of everything. Of everything except for one point, one unknown quantity: Sandor Clegane. Joffrey and Cersei clearly underestimated her, not only when it came to her intelligence, but also her courage. And he found, not for the first time, that he was glad for his relatives' ignorance.

When she had finished he leaned back, eyeing her silently for some seconds. "That is quite generous." he remarked finally. "I am curious. Clegane brushed me off when I thanked him. So why should you bother? I think, to him it was just his duty."

"Should my oldest brother die, him doing "just his duty" secured the north for the crown. And probably the life of Ser Jaime. Also, I heard that Joffrey ordered to leave me behind. He could've just saved his own life and not be bothered with me, a mere traitors daughter. That´s why I think it is not only in my interest to thank him properly." He noticed the slight edge in her voice. It was a highly emotional topic for her, he could tell, but she managed to keep herself in check. _Interesting..._

"I see your point. But why do you think he would accept it from you rather than me, the Kings Hand? He is not one for collecting favors of any sorts."

"Honestly, I don´t think he will. But I would like to try, nevertheless." The way she said it perplexed him: calm, somewhat detached, considering her age. But also, with a hint of restless desperation. As if... his eyes narrowed.  
"There is more to this, am I right? Tell me, Sansa, please. You have nothing to fear. I´m not my sister, nor my nephew. You are safe with me."

Under the considering gaze of his mismatched eyes, the girl struggled visibly for a moment. But then, she seemed to come to a decision, and when her blue eyes bored into his again, he felt pinned into place.

"First, I have to ask you for a promise. I know I am not in the position to make demands, and I am truly grateful that you want to hear me out. But this is very important to me. There must be no repercussions for what I´m going to tell you. It´s nothing, really, but I don´t want to get him into trouble for helping me."

Tyrion couldn´t help but to lift both eyebrows in surprise. "Helping? Are we talking about the same man? Tall, mean-spirited, half of his face roasted?"

At that, her brows furrowed and her eyes glazed over with the same icy expression he knew just too well from one Lady Catelyn Stark. "That´s unkind! Please don´t speak of him like that. It´s not like he can do anything about it." The instant she had uttered her request, her eyes grew wide and he could feel the panic rising in her.

 _Great job, you oaf. Because you are one to talk..._ "I apologize. Your request may be granted, if you stop putting me on the rack." he answered just slightly awkward.

With what seemed like a final, deep breath to calm her nerves, she did just that. "Well... as you know, Se... Lor... erm... he saved me during the bred riot. But that was not the first time he came to my aid or showed me kindness, in his very own way. To be true, he saved my skin multiple times. He gave me advice, so I would not rise his graces' ire when he.. challenged me. And he backed me up when I did nonetheless. Not out of malice, mind you, sometimes I just spoke before thinking. And... that day in the throne room... when his grace ordered Ser Boros and Ser Meryn to beat me because of my brothers war crimes. Clegane... he tried to stop him, told him it was enough. But his grace... he wouldn´t listen and told Ser Boros to go on. Luckily, you came in... you and he... and my handmaiden... you were the only ones that ever cared. The only ones, who helped, or at least tried to. I was so blind to his efforts, it shames me more than I can say. I feel like it´s the least I can do." She fell silent, as if there were no more words to say, but her vivid blue eyes betrayed her. The way she carefully chose her words and navigated around certain events didn´t slip his notice. It was a distrust well earned, established with cruelty and betrayal. He definitely had not heard all of it, but he didn´t need to. His mouth was already bone dry and his appetite gone. Tyrion couldn´t name all the different feelings that raged inside him. There was anger. Fear. Impotence. Pity. And shame. So much shame.

He felt a thick lump in his throat and had to swallow two, tree times before he found himself able to speak. Deeply moved, he reached with both hands for hers and carefully squeezed them, relieved when she didn´t jump back. In his opinion, she had every right to never let a Lannister touch her willingly again.

"Lady Sansa, I will never be able to apologize... or to make up for what my family has done to you and your family. I don´t know what to say besides that I will try my best to keep you safe. Please reconsider the offer I made that day: to let some of my man to guard you. Timett, Chella, anyone you would feel safe with." he declared, his voice heavy with empathy.

Sansa smiled genuinely at that and squeezed his hands in return, and for a brief, precious moment he could see the light-hearted little girl, that was locked deep inside of her. It warmed him instantly.  
"That is very kind of you. I will consider it gladly. But it´s not the reason why I am here today."

In the very same second, she was interrupted by Podrick, who entered the room noisily, balancing a big tray with various sorts of foods and drinks. The girl recoiled slightly, and Tyrion let her warm, long fingers slip form his short and wormy ones. They waited silently while Podrick unloaded some plates, a fruit basket, two carafes and the silverware. Tyrion felt his hunger returning slowly, so he dismissed his foot boy and started to load his plate, encouraging Sansa to do the same. To his pleasure, she picked up some grapes and began to nibble at them.

"So... you are absolutely sure about this?" He tried to say casually, whilst buttering a slice of bread.

"I am... What do you say?" She tried to sound strong and confident, but there was something else, too.

 _Hope. And fear of rejection._

"Before I´ll answer, I have some questions. First: Given that I approve. I don´t have to tell you, neither Joffrey nor Cersei must ever hear of this. If Joffrey found out, he would certainly use it against you. And him. So we would have to keep it a secret that you gave it to him willingly. Luckily, we are at war, so no one will blink an eye if he owns it."

Sansa nodded eagerly. "I already thought as much."

"Very well. Secondly: Do you think you will be able to go through with this on your own? The Hound has quite a temper, so you must be prepared for the possibility that he could refuse your offer or respond ineptly. Personally, I can´t imagine him being thankful or very civil at all, but I wouldn´t have thought to hear what you just told me about him in the first place, so... However... even if he should refuse, I don´t think he will tell anyone. He is smart enough not to get himself into trouble."  
To his surprise, Sansa gave him a rueful smile. "I think I can handle him. I´ve made so many mistakes in his presence, it´s about time I get something right. And he deserves it, nonetheless. I don´t have misconceptions about who or what he is."  
"Hm... I hate to ask, but I have to: Has Clegane ever touched you improperly or taken advantage of you? Did he ask you for this?" He could have slapped himself, the moment he saw pure shock taking over her face.

"Quite the contrary. He was uncourtly, scared me, even mocked me sometimes. But he never hit me or forced himself on me. In fact, when he had to touch me, he was always gentle. When his grace had me stripped at court, the Hound was one of the few, who had the decency to look away. Remember how he gave me his cloak, although you ordered no one in particular? The only thing I could accuse him of, is his filthy language and the inability to handle courtesy."

Woah. She defended the lucky bastard like a lion mother her cubs. Maybe, there was more to Clegane than met the eye. Still, he had somewhat mixed feelings about the Hounds motives, although the man had always been most loyal. _Hypocrite. You helped her all the same and no one questions your motives. Be a good sport, give the girl what little she wants. He probably just tries to keep her alive, same as you. Can´t fault him for that... Besides, he is not his brother..._ He should be relieved that someone else watched over the girl. _I´ll keep an eye on both of them… just to be sure.._

"Glad to hear it. That leads me to my final question..." She tensed noticeable and held her breath. He took his time to pick up his wine-filled goblet, swung it slightly, then raised it to his lips, stopping just inches before the cold metal would touch them. Their eyes locked, his glistening with pure joy. "In light of the fact that Stannis could reach us any day, I suppose you would like to break the news to Clegane as soon as possible. He certainly should have some time to cherish his gift and make himself familiar with it. Am I correct?"

Sansas voice was barely a whisper. "Yes, I would very much like to do that."

"PODRICK!"

The dark haired foot boy stuck his head through the door only seconds later.

"Yes, my Lord Hand?"

"Fetch me Sandor Clegane."


	3. Gratitude

Later that day, he asked himself how she had done it. Was it just luck or had she tricked him on purpose? How could he miss the signs? Like... all of them? Well, he had been damn tired. But not too tired to notice, that she was tricking him. Certainly, he was distracted. By her behavior and the imp. Damn... the imp. It all made sense, now. Earlier, it had not.  
 _Outplayed by a little girl. How do you like that, dog?_ But he found, he couldn´t be upset about it, because it led him right here: Wondering how the hell Sansa Stark ended up slumbering in his arms.

* * *

 **Earlier**

Grumbling, Sandor followed that green footboy around the keep. The imp himself demanded his presence, why he could only guess. In anticipation of Stannis' arrival, the whole city hummed like a beehive. For days, all gates had remained close, in hope to keep spies and assassins out. Every man able to stand on two legs had been armed, and every catapult established. Now, the waiting began. Surely, whatever the imp wanted would have to do with the battle. Sandor envisaged long, tiring discussions about formations or some other, boring war-related tasks. Still, that would be better than watching Joffrey prancing around with that stupid new sword of his. The golden boy-king could barley hold it without trembling. Perhaps, that´s why he gave it such an overblown name. Hearteater. The name was terrible... in more than one way. If he wasn´t so tired and moody, he would have laughed Joffrey out of court... and himself into the black cells.

They reached the office and the footboy knocked briskly, then opened the door when a muffeld "Enter!" came from within. Sandor did as he was bid, strolling in almost casually, glowering. It was then he saw Sansa Stark.  
There she sat, the image of the maiden herself. She wore a dark-blue linen dress, much simpler than her usual gowns, but elegant nonetheless. Her hair was braided into the typical northern style: pulled back at the temples, the rest flowing freely down her shoulders. He was strangely pleased to see her like that. She looked every inch like her Lady mother, even bore the same exhausted, slightly pale face with that stubborn northern dignity, she had showed him from day one. He noticed she looked a little uneasy, when she stood up and walked closer, silently nodding at him. Then, it hit him. He had heard of it. Of course he had. Sandor was not interested in gossip, but today you had bad chances avoiding the "good news". He couldn´t help but pity her. It was only a question of a few months, maybe only weeks, until she was sold off into marriage. To him, she was still a child.  
A child with growing curves and an angelic face, but that could not compensate her colossal naiveté. Only yesterday, she had infuriated him with her chitchat about gods and knights. Damn, he had been so mad. Disappointed even. His stomach twisted into a knot at the memory.

Quickly, he turned his head to Tyrion Lannister. The imp sat at his desk, occupied with wax sealing what might be a letter.

"You sent for me." Not a question.

"Obviously." Without as much as a glance in his direction, the imp jumped out of his chair and waddled around the desk, while he waved the piece of folded parchment. Addressing the Stark girl, he handed it over. "It contains all we have discussed. I wish I could join you, but I have to save my nephews kingdom." he declared with dry sarcasm. "Well, Lady Sansa, it was my pleasure. And best of luck." Sandor immediately disliked the imps conspiratorial voice. He was no friend of the halfman, although he must admit, he was the lesser evil of House Lannister. Certainly better than Joffrey and Cersei. Tyrion had saved the little bird from Joffreys wrath and deserved credit in return. But Sansa Stark was still a pawn in the big game, and a very valuable one at that.

To his utter confusion, he watched as the girl threw the imp a smile that reached her azure blue eyes, tenderly seizing, then briefly squeezing his hand when she murmured a reply, too quiet for even the Hound to hear. Whatever she said, it pleased Tyrion, judging by the warm look he gave her, while releasing her palm.

"Oh, before I forget... there are some apples and grapes left, just take the fruit basket with you, would you?" The imp winked at Sansa, a cheerful expression on his face. The girl responded with a smile so gorgeous, Sandors chest tightened inevitably. He hadn´t seen her smile like this in a long time. A very long time. She turned and glided out of hearing.

Not able to restrain himself, Sandor rasped: "Playing with the kings toy, are we, imp?" The dwarf looked at him unfazed, a bright smile on his mischievous face. Usually, Tyrion Lannisters expression was all mockery. But to his surprise, the small man regarded him with something akin to... appreciation? Solidarity? Good will? "No need to be jealous, Clegane. Actually, it´s you the gods have smiled upon, not me." the dwarf answered cryptically, glancing at the balcony before locking eyes with him. "Escort Lady Sansa to the stables and see her to her chambers afterwards. I expect you to not grieve the girl. She is in a delicate condition. Normally, your shift would end at midnight, but you are dismissed, when the Lady says so. And now, be a good dog and try to not bite the hand that pets you!"

The way the imp emphasized " **pets"** made him suspicious. A clever man like Tyrion Lannister did not get his quotes wrong without a deeper meaning. Did he question where his loyalties lied? Or, did he just envy him for the Stark girls company?

"Just spit it out. What are you getting at?" he shot back, his eyes narrowed in fury.

As if to infuriate him on purpose, the imp sighed dramatically. "Trust me, just this one time, for the girls´sake! Try to be a decent human being today. Now take my advice and thank me later."

Before he could press the subject further, Sansa swiftly appeared at his left side. His body tensed instinctively. "I´m ready. Good evening, Lord Tyrion. Thank you, for everything." The fruit basket dangled lazily from her left arm and she suddenly seemed to be quite nervous. He couldn´t blame her, after how he had threatened her the day before. They were dismissed and suddenly, he was all alone with her.

The walk down to the stables was rather unspectacular. He fell into step with her and puzzled over what the imp could´ve possibly meant... what business she did have with the halfman in the anyway... If she ever would talk to him again. And why he had to bring her to the stables, of all places, when she was obviously unsteady on her feet and...

"You are not dressed for riding." he observed, finally breaking the silence.

"That´s because I did not plan on riding today." she admitted, her voice ever-so-softly.

"And what did you plan on?"

For a moment, she seemed unsure of what to say. Then, she looked up into his dark grey eyes and for the first time ever _really_ looked at him. And now, that she did what he had requested for so long, he was not sure if he wanted to deal with it. Fuck, those eyes would haunt him!

"Watching… hopefully."

He furrowed his brow. Why she would want to watch anyone take a ride was beyond him, but maybe she wanted to distract herself from the pain by swooning over gallant Ser Loras Tyrell or some other buggering fool. He couldn´t hold back the answer dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Alright with me, as long as you don´t set the fucking stables on fire... "

Silence. Then, she looked up at him again, masked with a challenging expression he had never seen on her before.  
"You are safe with me. I don´t want to answer for your pretty face being burned, right?"

Seven hells. Did Sansa Stark just talk back to him? She had sounded indifferently and cool, almost mocking. But as he slowed down and took her in, her big blue eyes betrayed her: she was rattled. Never before had she dared to make fun of him. In an instant, he knew two things. First: If he took this badly, he would destroy what little confidence the girl still had... and that foolish trust she bestowed on him. And secondly: It really shouldn´t bother him that she feared his temper and cruel responses. But somehow, it did. And that was bothering him even worse.  
He eyed her as if he saw her for the very first time. Then, disbelieving, he barked an amused laugh and she calmed visibly.

"Discovered your talons, have we? No courtesies for me, little bird? No chirping?"

"You made perfectly clear that you expect me to avoid saying such things in your presence."

"Aye, I did. Did not tell you to tease the dog, though."

"Maybe, the dog should not tease me to begin with." At that, he laughed again. How defiantly she looked at him!

"Fair enough, little bird." He grumbled those words, but his amusement was unmistakeable. When the corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk, he felt like he had passed a test. Or gained a glorious victory. It was _too_ perfect. He just HAD to have the final say. "But only because you might turn into a fucking phoenix otherwise."

After a few, painful seconds, she voiced a wistful sigh.

"If only. I´d allow you to tease me all day." She spoke so innocently, he felt the urgent desire to hit a wall. For a brief moment, he considered to lecture her. Tell her what a grown man would hear. Or worse, a sadistic asshole like Joffrey or Trant. But he liked the small peace they had built, and for some pathetic reason, wouldn´t destroy it.

Finally, the distinctive smell of horse, leather and hay surrounded them, as they entered the stables. Sandor knew the building by heart, as he spent a lot of his time down here. Especially the last few nights, when he needed to tend to Strangers wounds. The stallion had suffered severe cuts and bruises, many of them required stitches. As the healing process started, he ran a fever, which kept Sandor occupied for the last two nights. His mind immediately drifted off to his comrade. Stranger was not a pleasant patient. Maybe, he could take a quick look, see if he behaved.  
Sandor watched the girl wandering off a little to glance into the different horse boxes before starting a short conversation with Gijs, the stablemaster. He allowed his eyes to glide into the opposite direction. Strangers box was just there, at the end of the path, less then 100 feet away... As if Stranger could read his mind, the horses massive skull appeared over the box door, his eyes finding his owner in an instant. Immediately, the stallion started to kick against the walls surrounding him, displaying his impatience. Sandor felt relieved. If he got annoyed and jealous with him again, the black beast definitely was on the road to recovery.  
Suddenly, Sansa slipped back to his side, claiming his attention with her nervous voice.

"Care to pay him a visit?"

Baffled, he furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"Stranger!"

His head turned to hers rapidly and he felt himself unable to conceal his confusion.

"You know my horse?"

"From the Kingsroad. He is very distinctive." the girl said, almost casually while she grabbed an apple from her basket and held it under his nose. "I heard that he was injured during the riot." she added, worrying her lower lip. Suspicious, he eyed first the girl, then the fruit, before he snatched the latter.

"First of all, he is a goddamn bastard, so don´t get too close." he snarled due to default of a kinder answer, but laid one hand protectively on her left shoulder as they reached the box. "Stay here. Don´t be hectic. And no squeaking or screeching. He´s not at his best, but that means no improvement to his temper." He waited for her nod, then drew his dagger and cut the apple in quarters before he slipped into the box. "No whole fruits. He´s a greedy one. Don´t want him to get a blocked gullet." _Again._  
Stranger greeted him with a snort, then snapped the pieces from his palm. While the horse munched, Sandor closed the distance and started to stroke the black stallion with his huge, calloused hands, watching his mount closely. The various swellings finally began to cease and there were no warm patches, which was a good sign. Maybe, he would be able to take him to the pasture soon. Given that the stud will not injure himself severely before because of boredom. "Good boy." he muttered absently, scratching the horses neck. In response, Stranger lowered his head, closed his eyes and twitched the upper lip.

Sansa Starks voice brought Sandor back to the present. "You really have a way with him." she remarked, shifting closer to the open door. "Will he... make a full recovery?" Sandor considered giving her a harsh answer, as he was pretty certain she only asked to fulfill her duty. But when he looked at her, he saw the empathy in her eyes and he remembered the incident with her direwolf on the Kingsroad. He couldn´t help but notice how much she had changed since then. Her world was whole and full of fairy tales, love and songs. She had been so hopeful. Right now, she was a prisoner, all alone, with no one to trust, desperate for what little civil human conversations and contact she could get. The irony, that she tried to get it from him - of all people - wasn´t lost on him.  
He sighed. "We´ll see. I think the worst part´s over. Now he needs to stay calm."

On cue, the stallion stretched his enormous neck in Sansas direction and sniffed the fruit basket with great enthusiasm. When Sandor hindered him to snatch it, the black beast became cranky and stomped his enormous hooves. The girl backed off immediately and gave Sandor an unsteady look. "Sorry, I should have stayed there. He just looks so calm when you are with him. One could easily forget what he is capable of."  
"Well, as I said, he´s greedy, so be careful if you want to keep your food." he answered while nudging the horse to remind him of his manners.  
"Hm... the other apple is reserved, but he could have some of my grapes. Do horses eat grapes?"  
He snorted soundly. "How the hell should I know?" His voice sounded overly harsh, even to his own ears, and he winced inwardly. The imp´s words echoed in his mind. _'Try to be a decent human being.' ... Oh fuck me, I´m going soft._ Considering her for a short moment, he stretched his hands out and stepped closer. "Let´s find out. Gimme some and come here." She did as he bid, handed him a bunch of grapes, then put the basket aside. It astounded him, how willingly she took his hand and followed his guidance, until she came to stand right in front of him. He removed some grapes from the stalk, then dropped them into her palm, all the while talking into her right ear. "Stretch your fingers. The thumb too. I´ll guide you, no need to worry." he mumbled, before he hesitantly put the flat palm of his right hand on the back of her outstretched one. Her tiny, pale fingers looked lost in his big, tanned paws and he urged himself to not marvel at the fact that her whole right arm was snuggled into his. Slowly, he guided their hands to Strangers nose. The stallion flared his nostrils, sniffing the presented grapes, blowing his warm breath onto their palms. He seemed hesitant for a moment, then picked the fruits with puckered lips and started to munch. Sansa giggled quietly. "His nose is sooo soft! Like silk." The two of them stood  
still while the horse sniffed the empty hands once again, but quickly lost its interest and attended to the hay instead. That broke the spell and suddenly Sandor became aware of the fact, that he had held his breath. Sansa was so close, he could smell the scent of her hair: lemons and lavender. Clearing his throat, he stepped back, breaking the contact. The moment they had just shared was pure peace and he suddenly felt ill at ease. Nobody came to the Hound for comfort.  
"'There you have your answer." he rasped, gently pushing her out of the box to lock it.  
"Indeed." She mumbled meaningfully. Later, he would notice that this moment had emboldened her. She picked up her basket, then straightened her back and gave him a look he would never forget. It was warm, probably even admiring (not that he could tell the difference) and somehow dead serious. Just like her voice.  
"I want to introduce you to someone." She did not wait for his answer, but turned and started to walk.

Irritated, he fell in step behind her. "Who the hell could YOU possibly introduce me to?"

She did not turn nor respond. Instead, she led him to the guest wing of the stables. There, she stopped in front of a spacious box. When he came to stand beside her, she opened it and slid inside, gesturing him to follow her.  
It was then he noticed the horse: a huge chestnut courser with a distinctive snowflake marking. The coat was a rich red, interrupted here nd there by small, white spots that spread all over the horses body. Chest, neck and croup were heavily muscled and the proportions told him, that the horse had enjoyed decent training. It stood easily 18 hands and was only a little smaller than Stranger, he mused. Overall, it was a fine specimen of a horse. Sansa stroked and scratched the chestnut confidently and slipped it an apple.

"My lord father bred her. She was his pride and joy. We were born only hours apart. Father thought it was a sign of the gods...a red filly for a red-haired baby girl. " She huffed a laugh. "Well, it was not. It became apparent early on, that we are no match, for several reasons. She was a little ruffian, always keeping the stable boys on the run. The cheekiest of the whole lot. As a yearling, she already stood a hand taller than her peers. And then... well, she just wouldn´t stop growing. When she was three, Father took over the task to break her in and then continued to train her. He liked her very much." At that, her voice became melancholic and she took a second to regain her composure. Sandor did not dare to say a thing, just waited for her to go on. He had no idea why she was telling him all that, but he mused that her loneliness gained the upper hand. The least he could do was to lend her an ear. Trying to be a _decent human being_. And to be true, it was not that bad. He liked the way she talked: a little absent, but confident, as if he wasn´t the Hound himself who frequently scared the shit out of her. And all the while fondling the giant horse, which made her look even more fragile in comparison.

"I know it´s not common in the south to ride mares into battle. But it is in the north. My father rode her in sorties, scouting missions, some of the few small battles since the last war, countless hunts – mostly hunts... She does not fear water nor fire and my father used to say that she has the ability to 'jump a house'. I'm a bad rider and just don´t feel comfortable with her. She is way too fiery and tall for me. I feel... lost on her back. She needs someone who can handle her temper and gives fine, precise riding aids. Sad to say so, but she is wasted on me." Her voice became shaky again, but her Tully-blue eyes locked with his, her look steady. Sandor furrowed his brow, suspicious of what she was up to, but not in his wildest dreams would he have expected the next part.

"That´s why I want you to have her. As a gift."

Boom.

First, he thought he simply misheard her. Then, the meaning of her words dawned on him, slowly. Very slowly. Due to his lack of reaction, the little bird got even more nervous and started to chirp again:

"Should she not be to your liking, you could trade or sell her of course... or maybe breed her to Stranger? She already produced two very decent foals."

 _Fuck me sideways._ Did she just give him a breeding suggestion? He swallowed hard and grasped for the first thought that occurred to him: self-defense.

"Is this some vile joke?" He growled, taking a look around as if he expected half of the court to hide in the shadows.

Her reply came quickly. "I could not be more serious about this."

With narrowed eyes, he stepped closer. "And what do you want in return?" he gnarled.

Her reply sounded genuinely astounded, the expression on her face almost pained. "Nothing. She is meant as a gift, not a bribe. There are no strings attached. I don´t even expect you to thank me."

The look she gave him told him she was sincere. His brain made only slow progress, but one word throbbed painfully in his head.

"WHY?" he groaned back, bewildered.

Her answer was so quiet, he almost missed it. "Oh, I don´t even know where to start... "

He had a vague idea what she adverted to, but this was hands down the most disproportional expression of gratitude ever. Sandor knew he behaved poorly, even extremely ungrateful, but he had to put a stop to this. In an attempt to calm her – and himself - he laid both heavy hands on her shoulders and squeezed them almost unnoticeable. "Little Bird... this is folly... What do you think Joffrey will do to you when you give something so precious to me?" Well, in his opinion, it was a coherent argument. For about three seconds.

"I settled that. We are at war. Officially, she got nationalized and Lord Tyrion gave her to you. It´s all in the letter Tyrion wrote for me. I´m just here to tell you everything I know about her, so that you are fit to protect our **beloved** king. He´d like that, I´d suppose... having me hand over something so dear to me to someone else... but I don´t think someone is likely to care, though." Her small smile gave away that she was very pleased with herself. Obviously, she had put a lot more effort in this whole charade, than he first imagined. And her solution was clever. Insane but clever. He was not worth such trouble.

"You are mental." he stated, slowly withdrawing his hands.

"I´m quite sane, thank you very much. They will take her from me, sooner or later... if Joffrey does not kill me before. I´ll rather give her to someone of my choosing, someone who I think might be worthy of her. She is a splendid horse and needs a good rider. YOU are a good rider. Also, you need a reliable mount. And you will take good care of her. I know because I saw how you care for Stranger. And besides..." She had talked herself into a rage and stopped a second too late.

His mind was already racing, trying to handle all the information she just gave him. She had thought about him. Watched him. Tricked him.

"And besides?" he pressed.

"And besides... when Stannis comes... I want to know, you are out there with a horse, that knows its job."

His brain told him not to ask. To not dig deeper. That she had already revealed too much.  
He asked nonetheless.

"And what kind of job would that be?" His voice was low, oddly gentle.

She flushed slightly, but somehow managed to hold his gaze.

"To bring you back. Safe and sound."

"Why would you want that?"

Now it was her turn to sound bewildered. "Because I care."

"Care for the king." He had to say that, to give her the opportunity to escape the downward spiral.

She snorted. "You know better than that."

He inhaled sharply. _Oh shit._

Sandor found himself speechless. He stared at her, having the lump of his life in his throat. Never before had he felt so uncomfortable. People did not bother to worry about him. They feared him. But Sansa Stark seemed to fear _for_ him. And he had no idea how to deal with this revelation.  
Honestly, he thought she was totally repulsed by him. It had infuriated him, that she still wouldn´t look him straight in the face after he had saved her. As if she hadn´t seen things far worse by now, than his burns. That had been only yesterday. But right now, she would face him with a look in her eyes that was not meant for the likes of him. Sandor allowed himself to just take her in for a long, silent moment.

There she stood, not a girl but also not yet a woman, and so damn concerned about his life, that she would give him her horse. No, her lord fathers horse. _Fucking Ned Starks_ horse. Despite all the harsh words he had given her, she still tried to interact with him. To be nice, to care. Even to worship. Bit by bit, she wormed herself into his heart. First made him notice, then care. He couldn´t help it. And now, she had him emotionally stripped, fighting against a sudden onslaught of feelings.  
All at once, he felt bone-tired. Tired of being alone, always on guard. Expecting the worst at any time, while serving a little brat, that would cost him his head sooner or later. Tired of the hate, that consumed him, leaving him a joyless, cynical shell. And most of all, so unbelievably tired of rejecting _her_. It had been easy when she just chirped courtesies. He could deal with that, let his anger float. But this was a grand gesture, speaking for her laudable intentions and even he was not immune to that.  
In summary, it sounded like out of a fucking song.  
And he found, he couldn´t care less. She was the only person in many years to reach for him. Who was he to shove her away? Chances were high he could die within the next days. He should take what little joy and peace life offered him. Should he?

His head was still spinning, when Gijs stuck his head into the box, nodding curtly.

"My Lady. Hound. May I prepare the horse?"

Sansa and Sandors eyes were still locked, challenging each other. He was the one to break the contact, by turning his head to gaze over his broad shoulders.

"You may." With that, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the box to give Gijs space.

They watched the old man in silence, as he saddled and bridled the horse. After no more then 3 minutes, he led it out of the box and handed Sandor the reins. Somehow defeated, he shot Sansa an unreadable glare, patted the mares neck shortly before directing her to the riding arena. He didn´t need to look back to know, that the girl followed them like a shadow, a wide grin on her lips. When Gijs was out of sight, he grumbled in her direction: "Anything I should know? Like bucking, rearing or trying to kill everyone, who dares to climb her back?"

"No such things. She is loyal and obedient, but temperamental. She likes to go fast."

As they entered the arena, he mounted the horse, while Sansa took her place at the stands. Fighting the urge to flee over the hills and far away, he started slowly, riding some lap to warm her up. When he tried lateral movements an other basics, the chestnut answered to the slightest aids, seeming eager to please her rider. When he spurred her to trot and later canter, she reacted on point, needing no second invitation. Her gaits were comfy, perfect for long days in the saddle and he promptly felt at ease. Fuck. This would have been so much easier if the horse was total crap. But to his dismay, the girl had not exaggerated.  
His curiosity got the better of him, and he urged the courser to the logs and bush fences. Immediately, the mare cocked her ears and picked up the tempo, pulling towards the obstacles as if her very life depended on overcoming them. Now he knew why a girl like Sansa had troubles to handle the mare. He picked up the reigns slightly and lend forward, preparing himself to not hinder the chestnut in her movements.  
Then, they were flying. And it was pure bliss: caressed by the wind, feeling the heart of his mount beating between his legs and the sensation of her red mane brushing his face, hearing the dull PA – DA – BAM of her hooves that tore up the grass beneath them, when they landed and cantered on. The mare moved with the grace of a cat and jumped effortlessly like a stag. Without a further thought, he rode to the next obstacle and then the next and the next until they had completed the whole course.  
When he finally turned the horse to ride back to where Sansa sat, a foolish grin had sneaked itself upon his face and he had a hard time biting it back, before halting in front of the girl. His objections had evaporated during the ride and he felt strangely calm.

She beamed at him.  
Of course she did. Because even a blind man could tell that he enjoyed this ride.

Sandor Clegane knew he had lost. But it was the sweetest defeat he had ever suffered. With a sigh, he bent a little to pet the mares neck.

"Well little bird. That´s indeed a very good horse." A confession.

"I´m glad you like her. It looked really promising."

He dismounted and leaned against the fence that separated the stands and riding arena. Suddenly, he noticed, both of them were so occupied with their – well, whatever this was – that he didn´t even knew how to address the mare.

"What´s her name?"

"Ladybird. Because of the spots." Sansa exclaimed sweetly. _Ladybird. Gods, that´s too fucking perfect._ Abruptly, he threw his head back and broke into a booming, guttural laughter. Sansa watched him out of widened eyes, dumbfounded. When he regained his composure, she offered: "You can rename her, of course. 'Maiden'... no... but 'Mother', perhaps? She certainly is a good broodmare... That would match with 'Stranger'."

"No chance."

"Beg pardon?"

"Won´t rename her."

"So... you like her name?"

"Not really."

"Well then why?"

He could tell her names didn´t matter, but that would have been a lie, and he hated lies. All men gave their mounts fearsome, strong, overly manly names. Or blasphemous ones, like he had done.

Perhaps, he should tell her of the saying, that renaming a horse would bring ill luck. But he didn´t believe that shit and he had used a particular lie about ill luck only some weeks ago in her presence, so...

"Take an educated guess, **little bird**." The way he emphasized the last two words gave everything away she needed to know. Sansa flushed a little when it dawned on her and he enjoyed the knowledge that he was the one who made her blush oh so prettily. He considered it a payback for earlier.

"Does that mean... you´ll accept my gift?" she probed. The hopeful look, that woke her tired eyes, made his stomach twitch. Again, he asked himself how the fuck he deserved this. His mind wandered back to yesterday and the guilt stung even harder. Swallowing hard, he finally gave in.

"Aye, little bird. I´ll nourish and cherish her as best as I can." His voice croaked slightly and he tried a smirk, to say 'Thank you' without voicing it, because it felt like the understatement of the year.

Her smile in return was bloody triumphant, and he asked himself what the hack was happening to him, when the pit of his stomach suddenly began to feel warm and fluttery. But he wouldn´t complain, had no right to do so.

Putting one of his big paws on her left shoulder, he added quietly: "You can have her back. Anytime. Just say the word." He squeezed her shoulder lightly at her wide smile, not sure how long he would be able to fight back the rush of emotions that fought inside of him. And the drive to just grab her and flee until they reached Winterfell and he could lay down his sword in front of her kingly brother, begging him, and her, for forgiveness.

"Come little bird, let´s take her back."

They walked back in peaceful silence, his one hand still on her shoulder. When he led Ladybird into her box, Sansa sat down on a bundle of straw and snacked her remaining grapes, while watching as Sandor took off saddle and bridle, then brushed the mare down and picked her hooves. Occasionally, she would chirp something and he would grunt, or even chuckle, when she told him about her embarrassing riding experiences. She chattered so admirably, that he let himself get carried away to the point of telling her, that he couldn´t count how often he had fallen dead drunk off Stranger.  
When he came back from the tack room, he found her asleep. For a second, he wondered what to do, afraid to touch and wake her. But the way she was curled up told him, that she was in pain and needed the comfort of her chambers. Gingerly, he gathered her into his strong arms and brought her up to his chest, all the while looking at that beautiful, peaceful face that rested against him. Her lips were slightly agape, wild, auburn hair spread over his left arm and her tiny hands nestled against her stomach. He mused her moonblood bothered her. Damn, her moonblood. He couldn´t believe, she was a woman flowered now. When she slept and no sorrows altered her face, she looked like a child again. So innocent. So pure. His guts twisted into a painful knot at the knowledge, that probably no one else in this city, looked at her so fondly like he did right now. _No strings attached my ass._ This girl would be the death of him.

He could only wonder what led to this moment, and he knew he would replay this in his head over and over again for the next hours, unable to find sleep.

Something had changed. Something fundamental. It was awkward. He almost felt like a father, protective and concerned about her. At the moment, he craved her purity and the good, naive heart that beat in her chest. But he would lie to himself if he denied, that she was growing into a woman he would desire madly one day.

Normally, he was a fast walker. But with her in his arms, he took all the time he could without raising suspicion, telling himself, he only did so because he did not want to wake her. Taking abandoned corridors and stairs, Sandor carried her all the way, only lifting his glance every now and then. Far too early, they reached her chambers. He took a sweet moment of idleness, before he lowered her down on her bed with a tenderness he didn´t knew he was capable off. When he withdrew his hands again, the absence of her warmth pained him physically. Gently, he covered her with a blanket. The very moment his fingers released the fabric, her eyes fluttered open.

"Shh little bird. You fell asleep. Brought you back to your cage. I´ll fetch your handmaiden." he breathed gently, softly pushing her back into her pillow when she tried to sit up. "You need rest."

The disappointment in her sleepy eyes was almost too much to take. "Oh... thank you. I´m sorry I kept you occupied for so long." she exclaimed.

"You needn´t." He failed to tell her this had been the most enjoyable day he had had in a long time. It unsettled him, but he simply couldn´t. "Sleep well, little bird." he added for good measure, then straightened up and walked to the door.

"You too... Sandor." came a soft whisper form behind.

It was, when he already had left her chambers, that he noticed she had addressed him by his first name. The realisation gave him that stupid warm feeling again. _Gods..._ _I´m fucked._


	4. Hope

It was shortly before sundown, when Bronn entered Tyrions chambers, a sly smile on his face. Without further ado, he grabbed a goblet of wine from a side table, filled it and then took his place at the table, stretching out languidly. Shae, who just had sprung up from Tyrions lap in alarm, shot him a glare before she sunk back against the imp again. "Gods you scared me. Why don´t you knock like everyone else?" she huffed, relief visible on her features.

"I could, if I were everyone else. But where´s the fun in that?" the sellsword shot back, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes as he eyed the pair in front of him.

"Insufferable man..." Shae mumbled in response, her pulse still racing.

"Oh don´t play coy. You love me."

"I take it that they are done?" Tyrion cut in, questioning eyebrows raised above his mismatched eyes.

"Yep."

"So? How did it go?"

"Fine. They didn´t notice me, if that´s what you are asking," Bronn asserted with feigned indignation.

Shae turned in Tyrions lap and looked down at him, comprehension dawning on her.

"You send him to spy on them?" she asked, not really sounding surprised.

"Yes. Just to make sure they don´t run into trouble. And that Clegane keeps his temper in check," Tyrion replied offhandedly. "I´m still not sure if it was a good idea to grant her wish in the first place, but she was very determined," he added with a sigh. Then, his brows furrowed and he turned to Bronn again.

"Well?"

Bronn took a sip of wine and slowly put his feet up onto the edge of the table. He enjoyed having the upper hand a little bit too much.

" _ _Well__ , I wish __I__ had been there at the riot, saving the little Lady. That´s one fine horse," he replied, swallowing some wine with a content sigh.

"Big. Nice build. Not too much on the heavy side."

His hands accompanied his description, the wine goblet tilting dangerously in the process.

"Colour is nice too. Dark red with little white spots all over," he went on.

Shae exchanged a quick glance with Tyrion while Bronn took another sip.

"A little fancy for a warhorse I suppose, but I could pull it off. You just need to know which colours work well together. Black would do fine on that one. Or a nice, dark brown... or rich forest green..."

"BRONN. As much as I usually enjoy your storytelling, my patience is wearing thin. Could you please come to the point?" the imp snapped.

The sellsword smiled like a cat that got the cream.

"The point is, that Clegane is the lucky bastard who has to break his head over the matter."

"So he agreed?" Tyrion asked, not even trying to hide his disbelief.

"Naturally. Would be a fool if he didn´t. Couldn´t quite believe it at first. Thought the girl wanted to prank him. For a moment, I feared I had to step in, but she handbagged him quite thoroughly."

"And he put up with that?" Tyrion asked with surprise.

Bronns lips quirked into a nasty smirk. "Like the good dog he is."

"Told you," Shae snickered, a smile of triumph on her face, as she held out her hand. Wordless, Tyrion pulled a small sack of coins from his breeches and handed them over. The handmaiden didn´t even bother to recount the gold and slipped the purse into her skirts instead.

"So... no temper tantrums? Nothing untoward?"

"Nothing. He was a little frosty at the beginning, but he unbent when she started to work her charm. Behaved decent enough I suppose. Not as nice and charming as __I__ would have, but the little Lady seemed content with what she got. She´s back in her chambers now. I think she might have need of you," he said, pointing in Shaes direction.

The woman took the cue. "Alright, I will see to her. At least she won´t string me along. See you later, my lion." With that, she rose, placed a soft kiss on Tyrions lips and quickly left the room.

When the door fell shut, Tyrion gave his employee a thoughtful look.

"What are you holding back?"

"He likes her. Not sure he knows yet. She´s a step ahead of him, she cares for him and she knows it."

"Anything to be concerned about?"

"Don´t think so. He wasn´t trying anything. He pities her, I guess. Sees her for what she is: a little girl, all alone in a lion´s den. Probably the only kingsguard with any brain left. Handles her as if she would break the very next moment. She fell asleep in the box after he took the horse for a ride. He let her sleep and carried her to her chambers. She seems to trust him quite a bit. Don´t think she would have fallen asleep in Trants presence."

"Certainly not!" Tyrion snorted, "But strange as it is, I had the same impression. She talks rather fondly of him."

"Should this exchange between your family and hers ever come to pass, he´d probably be the best man to take her. Without your nephew in the picture, I don´t think he would let anyone harm her. And he seems afraid of hurting her, that says something for him."

"Made quite the impression on you, huh?"

Bronn laughed at that. "I wouldn´t believe it, if I hadn´t seen it with my own eyes. But it seems as if the Hound has a heart indeed, black and crippled as it might be. It´s a curious and tentative friendship, but a friendship nonetheless."

"Curious indeed. They have nothing in common."

"They are both outcasts. Maybe that´s enough," Bronn remarked.

"Yes. Maybe."

A short pause followed, in which both man took a drink from their goblets. Then, Bronn raised his voice again.

"However, should you choose not to trust him, I volunteer. I have good use for any other horses she has to give. And she seems lovely company."

"Never. You´d have talked yourself into her smallclothes before Maidenpool." Tyrion answered dryly, but the smirk in his voice was audible.

"Can´t blame a man for trying."

Outside in the hallway, hidden in an alcove, Shae decided to not press her luck any further and hurried for Sansas chambers. She had heard enough anyway and couldn´t wait to get the whole story out of Sansa.

At the stairs to Sansas floor, she almost bumped into the Hound. He seemed deeply in thought, brows furrowed and eyes troubled. Shae had a good idea what, or rather __who__ , occupied his mind.

"There you are. I was looking all over for you. Your Lady has need of you." he snarled, but somehow his voice lacked its usual bite.

"I´m already on the way." she countered flatly and stepped around him to climb the stairs, when his voice stopped her once more, deep and demanding.

"And do something about the pain. She is hurting."

Was there a trace of concern in his bark? Before Shae could react, he swept down the stairs and out of her sight. The handmaiden shook her head in disbelief and hurried on.

When she entered Sansas chambers, the girl was almost asleep.

"Lady Sansa?" she whispered cautiously.

"Hmmm."

Shae slipped silently into the room and seated herself on the edge of the luxurious feather bed. Sansa was covered with a blanket, only her head with its distinctive red tresses sticking out.

"I ran into the Hound. He all but ordered me to do something about your moonblood pain. Is it really that bad?"

The girl sat up and blushed scarlet red. "Oh... well yes, I´m a little dizzy and my tummy and lower back hurts." she murmured, visibly embarrassed. Shae detected the smell of hay on her, and it made her smile warmly.

"Hm. That´s normal. I´ll bring you some tea, it will help you sleep. You need to drink frequently when your moonblood starts, otherwise you might faint. The pain gets better the second day, you will see. If not, tell me and I will go and see the maester."

"I don´t think that will be necessary. But thank you." the girl breathed, still uncomfortable with the subject. Inwardly, Shae sighed. Her charge would be forced to grow up even faster now. She patted the girls arm softly, then pressed her back into the mattress.

"Not for that. So, did your plan work?"

Suddenly, Sansa was wide awake and her vivid blue eyes brightened. "Yes, it seems so. I don´t really know how I convinced him, but I did. I don´t quite believe it myself. At first, I feared it would end in disaster." A groan escaped her lips. "Gods, but my back feels stiff."

Shae already had a vague idea, how Sansa had managed it, but decided to quench her curiosity for now. "How about that: I´ll go and raid the kitchens and you sort your memories. And when I´m back, you tell me how you tamed the fearsome Hound."

"I didn´t tame him. And he is a __man__ , not a dog," the girl protested quickly.

"Sure. Anyway, I´ll be right back. And then, you better start from the beginning. I want details."

Almost one hour later, Shae left Sansas chambers, well-informed and with hopefulness in her heart.

Maybe, there was a silver lining on the horizon.

Maybe, Sansa Stark would be safe.


	5. Womandhood

When Sansa woke the next day, she stretched tentatively and found the pain in her body had diminished to a slight ache. She also noted a strangely refreshed feeling, as if some heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Her head felt light and her mind well rested. When she had finally gone to bed the night before, she had been so exhausted, she fell into a much needed, dreamless sleep. It had been the first night since her father's beheading without nightmares.

For a fleeting moment, she thought of her family and felt guilty. The nightmares had been horrible, and they grew even worse after the bread riot. But to her, they were equally punishment and atonement, as they forced her to relive every mistake she had made since leaving Winterfell. They also caused her insomnia though, and as a result, she often found herself overtired and off guard. A bad habit that grew increasingly dangerous in Joffrey's vicinity. So she buried her guilt, crawled out of bed and started her morning routine. After a short visit to the privy, she settled herself at the dressing table and began to brush her hair. She quickly got lost in her thoughts, her mind still occupied with the previous day's events.

With a small smile, she remembered how Shae had squeezed her for details. Despite her exhaustion, Sansa had relished the exchange with the Lorathi woman. There was little enough happiness in her life to share, and she was glad to finally have something positive to talk about. It felt empowering.

Quickly, her mind wandered to the Hound. She had thought a lot about the man in the last few days, and she liked to think that maybe she understood him a little better now. Smiling softly, she remembered their visit in Stranger's box. Clegane had been so gentle with her and the horses. She still marvelled at the outcome of her plan. Sansa fully expected him to refuse her. At best, he´d grudgingly accept and send her off with no more than some gruff words. But not only had he taken her gift more or less graciously, he even opened up to her. Only a little bit, mind you, but enough to make it count.

There was no doubt he had goodness in him, Sansa thought with a smile, delving deeper into her memories. One moment, she sat in the box with sleepy eyes, and in the next, she´d found herself being carried by his strong arms, gently rocking against him with every careful step he took. She remembered waking only for a short moment, before the feeling of safety quickly lured her back to sleep.

And he even bothered to tell Shae about her pain. He cared, in his own way.

She still couldn't be sure she wouldn't come to regret her gift. In fact, it would do her no good to get her hopes up. He was still Joffrey's sworn shield, and if his king ordered him to beat her, he would have to do so. Even if he regarded her more favourable than most, he surely wouldn't risk his life for a girl who was destined for an early grave anyway. Joffrey's bloodlust and cruelty increased with every day, and even Cersei held no control over her son anymore. It was only a question of time until he would lose his temper with her and decide something fatal.

But at least she had proven her gratefulness. Sadly, she would never be able to be friends with Sandor Clegane. As long as Joffrey ruled the Seven Kingdoms, any friendship between them would only result in pain. And should Robb or Stannis defeat Joffrey, they would most likely want the Hound's head. But she wouldn't let that happen. Should the day come he needed her help, she would testify for him. _But first he´ll have to survive the battle,_ a nasty voice in her head whispered _._ Her mouth went dry at the thought. Oh gods, what if he _died_? _No, he won't. He is one of the best fighters in the whole realm. He is so big, they will run as soon as they lay eyes on him_. But the voice whispered again. _A big man is a big target. All it takes is one well-aimed arrow..._

A sharp knock drew her from her gloomy thoughts. Shae entered and hurriedly leaned against the door, closing it in the process. She was out of breath and had a dark look on her face. Sansa knew instantly what she was in for.

" _His Grace_ wishes to break his fast with you and his lady mother," the dark-haired woman spat quietly, not bothering to hide her disdain.

Sansa's face froze instantly, dread creeping into the pit of her stomach and grabbing her intestines in an iron grip. Since the incident on the Kingsroad, her bodily reactions to Joffrey's presence were becoming more and more severe. It started with an uneasy feeling and goosebumps, then evolved to headaches and sudden loss of appetite. By now, only the mention of him had a cruel impact on her, causing nausea and cold shivers down her body. After the beatings in the throne room, she even suffered from diarrhea for several days. She literally feared him with every fibre of her being.

"When?" she breathed with a tight voice, knowing she wouldn´t like the answer.

"Yesterday, if he had his way. A Kingsguard is already on the way to fetch you," Shae answered bitterly.

"Oh lords have mercy."

The two women immediately burst into a rush. Shae pulled one of Sansa's favourite dresses from the wardrobe, helped her into it, and fastened the bodice with swift hands. Meanwhile, Sansa hurried to wash her mouth and chewed on some dried mint, while Shae fixed her hair into a modest but suitable hairstyle she used to wear a lot back in Winterfell. She had no desire to look anything like Cersei with her elaborate headdresses and gowns.

All the while, Shae pestered her with a pep talk, telling her she had to stay strong and calm and that everything would be okay. It didn't really serve the purpose of calming her, but Sansa was grateful nonetheless. The handmaiden cared for her, and if Joffrey ever tired of plucking her feathers, Shae would be there to pick up the pieces.

Just as the Lorathi secured the last strands of hair, the door flew open and Ser Meryn Trant swept in. He was his usual pompous self, strutting around like a proud peacock. Sansa's stomach flipped anew with dread. Trant was one of the worst guards around, not much better than Boros Blount. He had hit her with no hint of remorse, uncaring of the injustice he exercised on her.

But it was not only her dislike for Trant... She had hoped for a different Kingsguard to come and fetch her, she realized. But before she could explore the strange sensation of disappointment spreading in her chest, Trant addressed her with his typical cold demeanour.

"Lady Sansa," he sneered, "the king wants to see you. Now, if you _please_."

Shae gave Sansa's shoulders an encouraging squeeze, and they exchanged a quick look in the mirror. The grim determination in the handmaiden's eyes gave her the courage to finally turn around. Sansa took a deep breath, steadied herself and rose gracefully. As calm as she could, she looked into Trant's cruel eyes, did a small curtsey and answered: "Ser Trant. Of course, I´m at my king's disposal. Please lead the way." Her voice sounded collected and cold, but not too much so, making her feel slightly proud of herself. He did deserve far less, and she wouldn´t bother to be more respectful than absolutely necessary from now on. Her empathy and courtesy were lost on him.

Trant narrowed his eyes, but luckily refrained from voicing his displeasure. Instead, he stalked out of the room at a brisk pace. Sansa followed him silently through the hallways, forcing herself to keep the panic at bay.

When they entered the King's quarters, she realized with some relief that she wouldn't be alone with Joffrey and Cersei. Boros Blount and Sandor stood guard in the room, both wearing bored expressions. She only dared to glance at both for a short moment, noticing with satisfaction that Boros Blount had a broken nose indeed. His whole brutish face was an interesting mixture of black, yellow and purple, and his nose was unnaturally flat. She suppressed a smirk. _Serves him right,_ she thought. _But it takes more than that to match his face to his ugly character_ _._ Her gaze flickered to the Hound. His dark eyes were already on her, expressionless as ever. Then they wandered to Blount. For only a split second, the unburned corner of his lips twitched, as if they wanted to twist into a spiteful smile. _He is proud of his handiwork. He hates Blount as much as I._ The realization gave her a feeling of solidarity. For a mere moment, she allowed herself to think Sandor Clegane had avenged _her_ , before she buried the silly notion deep within her.

Sansa wanted to let her eyes linger on the Hound, the only person in this room she had any trust in, but a voice of reason told her otherwise. _Joffrey must not know. If he finds out, he will command him to beat me._ So she quickly averted her eyes and scanned the rest of the room. Tommen was present as well, and the fact soothed her nervous heart. Cersei always made sure that Tommen and Myrcella were spared the sight of blood and extensive cruelty. She would upbraid Joffrey if he ordered Sansa beaten in front of his younger brother... or take Tommen and leave her alone with her kingly son, a thought Sansa didn't want to consider further.

Of course, Joffrey spied her first. His face lit up in a way that made Sansa's already uneasy stomach drop once more. The eagerness in his cold eyes was downright terrifying.

"Lady Sansa, finally! What took you so long?" he sneered, his face set into that bratty grin she learned to loathe so much. He knew perfectly well she came as fast as she could, but he liked to get her into trouble, waiting for the second she couldn't come up with a pleasing answer for him.

His gaze swept up and down her body.

"Certainly it wasn't your effort to look your best," he added as his lips twisted into a nasty sneer. "You look like a peasant with that hair-do."

Sansa instantly felt her temper flare. How dare he! As if she had any interest in his opinion. She couldn't care less to please him of all people, but of course she couldn't tell him that. _Don´t step in his trap. He only w_ _ants a chance to humiliate you_. So she decided to simply not react to it.

"Your Grace, I came immediately with Ser Trant when he arrived. I thank you for the invitation," she spoke calmly after a graceful curtsey.

"Little dove, you are even paler than usual. Is the pain troubling you?" Cersei cut in with feigned sympathy, already nursing a goblet of dark red wine although it was still early in the day.

Sansa's cheeks blushed, and the queen mother seemed to enjoy her embarrassment. "It´s better already. Thank you for your concern, Your Grace," she chirped, hoping she would drop the topic. Cersei offered her a short smile which didn't reach her eyes. "Sit. We've waited long enough already." An exaggeration, if the full dishes in front of her were any indication.

Sansa sat down where Cersei gestured for her to do so and timidly selected some food for her plate. Meanwhile, Cersei sent Trant off to make himself useful at the battlements. _Stannis must be near, if even the Kingsguard is appointed to guard the stronghold,_ Sansa noted with some worry, quenching the impulse to look at the Hound again. Instead, she turned to the only other person in the room she actually worried for: Joffrey's little brother.

Tommen was his usual sweet self and made polite conversation with her, but Joffrey decided to cut in after a few moments.

"So you finally bled?" he asked rudely, not bothering with titles or general civilness.

Sansa's cheeks immediately burned up with shame again as she nodded silently and quickly broke eye contact with him. She busied herself with her plate, gingerly spreading honey on a piece of bread.

 _If I lie low, he might forget about me._

His disparaging snort told her otherwise.

"At least you'll be good for something now. It is about time I get repaid for my _hospitality_ , don´t you think?"

Sansa froze. In contrast to her hot cheeks, a nasty shiver crept up her back, spreading like wildfire over her whole body, until she felt fully engulfed in icy coldness. Sansa swore she could feel every single hair rise on her neck.

"Y-yes, Your Grace," she answered quietly, the words turning to ashes in her mouth at the coerced lie. _Oh please, leave me be_. _Just this once, please_.

But that was only the start of it.

"Well, let´s hope you take after your mother. I expect a litter for all the trouble you and your family have caused me," he went on, his voice full of disdain.

Sansa didn't answer. Her eyes firmly locked onto her plate, she prayed that he'd stop. Of course, he didn´t. He could sense her rising panic, and it elated him.

"Tell me my lady: do you look forward to sharing my bed?" he inquired lazily, his predatory eyes never straying once from her. She felt her calm appearance crumble further under his scrutiny.

"Yes, Your Grace. It is a great honour," she replied, still not looking at him, her tongue suddenly heavy and dry. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his grin widen, and his eyes brightened with cold amusement.

"That remains to be seen. Should you prove barren, I will make you a mistress. _My_ mistress. And I shall share most generously with my loyal guests and followers…" Her head snapped up, eyes wide with horror. _He can´t mean... he wouldn´t..._ But his cruel stare told her otherwise. The nasty sneer on his wormy lips grew bigger with every word. "Now that I think about it, maybe I should have you examined beforehand... for _abnormalities_. I wouldn't want to waste a big feast and a pompous wedding on a barren bitch, don't you agree?"

Her whole posture stiffened, knife and fork so hard in her grip her knuckles turned white. But before she was forced to answer him, the queen mother spoke up.

"Joffrey," Cersei cut in anew, her voice dismissive. "You shouldn't bother yourself with such nasty business. You have a kingdom to rule and an usurper to defeat. Leave her to the maesters. She will be examined before the wedding anyway."

Mother and son exchanged glances. Joffrey seemed to be angered at first, but he gave Cersei's words some consideration.

"Two usurpers, actually," Joffrey drawled eventually. Then he leaned in closer and dropped his voice so low his mother wouldn't hear him. "Maybe I should marry you to whoever brings me your traitor brother's head. The prospect would certainly spur my men on. I have some _very capable_ men in the Riverlands."

With a clatter, the silverware slipped from Sansa's fingers, as she drew back from him, her arms winding themselves around her midriff in a silent plea for help. She bit her lips to distract herself from the tears welling up in her eyes. And of course, it didn't slip Joffrey's notice.

"You are not eating, my lady. Is the food not to your liking?" he inquired, making it sound as the threat it was meant to be. Involuntarily, she fisted the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white.

She swallowed dryly, searching for the right words to appease him. "The food is most delicious, as always, Your Grace. I´m just not feeling too well." That had to be good enough. _I will not lie more than necessary. I won't ever lie for him, and I certainly won't lie if I can avoid it._

"The joys of womanhood, little dove. You will get used to it," Cersei intervened again with little sympathy. Inwardly, Sansa groaned. _Trust Cersei to set her so_ _n back on track again._

With feigned worry, Joffrey covered one of her fists with a sweaty hand, his grip hard. Sansa flinched at the unwelcome contact, then went completely still. It took all of her self-control to not pull her hand away and sanitize it with plenty of alcohol.

"Don´t worry, sweet lady. This will be the first and last time you'll have to endure your moonblood alone. When I have finished with my traitorous uncle, I will be _all yours_..." Joffrey cooed, but his voice held nothing kind in it.

His words became a blur as he went on. Thankfully, he wasn't too interested in her answers. He just wanted to demonstrate the power he held over her, and maybe coax a reaction he could punish. Sansa stayed as quiet as she could, but under the tablecloth, her knees trembled madly. She dropped the obligatory "Yes, Your Grace," and "No, Your Grace," every now and then, simply trying not to break down in front of him. Cersei would interject once or twice, but only managed to distract her son for mere moments. Eventually, she gave up on her fruitless pursuit and busied herself with Tommen and his kittens instead. As long as Joffrey did no bodily harm to Sansa, she seemed content. Joffrey used the opportunity to whisper obscenities in her ear, telling her that he planned to use _all_ her _considerable_ charms whenever he longed for them. His hot breath down her neck made bile rise in her throat.

"Maybe I should start right now? You might be bleeding, but a woman can serve a man in _many ways,_ " he suggested. "But of course, a lady like you doesn't know of such things, right?"

She nodded weakly, eyes transfixed on her lap, her wrist still in his clammy grip.

"Then I suggest you learn about them. You don't want to disappoint me in this, you hear me, Sansa?" The threat in his voice was unmistakable, causing her panic to flare to new heights. Unable to speak, she nodded again, her eyes filled to the brim with hot tears.

"You better."

For the time being, Joffrey seemed satisfied. He let go of her hand and turned towards his food, digging into the meat with a sick fascination. He would make a jape at her expense now and then, but his main focus had shifted to his mother and little brother. Sansa gingerly finished her slice of bread, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. The breakfast dragged on for what felt like an eternity, but finally Joffrey lost his interest in her and gestured for his sworn shield.

"Dog! Take Lady Sansa back to her chambers. I´m done with her... for now."

The Hound stepped forward, and Sansa allowed herself the first gaze in his direction since entering the room earlier. Joffrey used her distraction to grip her once again, pinning her back in place.

"I expect to see you in court tomorrow," he hissed. "You better look your best, or I will have you stripped and examined right there, in front of _everyone_. If you look like a farmer´s wife, I will treat you as such."

Sansa tried her best to spring up not too hastily and flee the room at once. With as much grace as she could muster, she stood up, curtsied and left the room, praying that Joffrey and his mother wouldn't see her shaking hands or trembling knees. Clegane followed her closely, his looming presence behind her a small solace. She managed to hold back the tears until the door closed behind them and they had surpassed the guards at the entrance. As soon as they were out of sight, she stumbled into a nearby alcove, sunk against the wall and started to sob uncontrollably.

"I can´t... I-I can't do this anymore," she cried and buried her face in her trembling hands. Even to Sansa's own ears, her whimpering sounded pitiful, but she couldn´t bring up the energy to care. She felt every bit the defenceless, senselessly chirping little bird the Hound used to call her.

"I-is t-this my fate? W-will I have to endure th-this every day for th-the rest of m-my life?"

But no answer came. Instead, strong hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled her back into a standing position, as if she truly weighed no more than a bird. She quickly regained her footing and found herself turned around, her gaze suddenly level with the Hound's broad chest. Then a handkerchief was pressed against her left cheek, dabbing at her tears.

"There you go, little bird. Calm down. It´s over," Sandor Clegane spoke quietly. His deep voice was a low murmur, almost warm, and she recognized it as the same he used when calming Stranger. It instantly sparked a strong feeling of safety deep within her. As a result, she couldn´t stop the next words tumbling from her lips.

"I -I won´t ever be able to please him! Whatever I do, he'll find a w-way to make me suffer. He thrives on it." She threw in a shaky breath. Almost inaudibly, she added, "Maybe you should've left me behind at the riot. I-It would have been merciful, compared to what h-he has in store for me."

"You don´t know what you are talking about," he rasped, his voice suddenly angry. "Haven't you seen what they did to that half-wit daughter of Lady Stokeworth?" He asked and waited until Sansa nodded meekly. "Joffrey would have even less restraint to harm you. You'd probably already warm his bed," he continued, brows deeply furrowed over his steely eyes. "At the moment, he can't do much more than threaten you." Sansa opened her mouth to reply something, but he was quicker.

"Hush now, little bird. You are safe for now. Save your energy for tomorrow."

Sansa nodded again, and with still shaking hands, reached up and took the handkerchief from his massive hands. Marvelling at their sheer size, she followed his hands with her gaze as his arms fell to his sides. His hands were so big in comparison to hers. And clad in gauntlets, they looked like fierce weapons. Weapons that could easily drive a sword through an opponent or snap a nose like a twig. How was it possible those same hands could be so gentle when it came to her?

Through the veil of tears, she sent him a grateful look, before her eyes settled on his hands again.

"Th-thank you," Sansa hiccuped and pressed the fabric against her eyes and nose to muffle her crying.

It took her a while to regain her composure, but the Hound waited patiently, never saying a word. His body blocked the entrance to the alcove, keeping the light – and curious eyes - from reaching her. She probably should have felt trapped. She certainly _would,_ if he were any other man, standing so intimately close to her. But engulfed in the darkness his shadow cast upon her, she felt strangely safe. It was as if there was no one else but them in this godforsaken city. Just a Hound and a little bird, not the King's betrothed and his sworn shield.

When her breathing calmed and her mind stopped racing, she noted the distinctive smell of leather and hay in the cloth. It was her father's smell. And Arya's. Bran's. She calmed as memories from Winterfell flooded her mind, memories of happier days. The taste of fresh snow in the air in the mornings. Direwolves racing through the kennels. Her mother idly brushing her hair whilst humming a song. Her siblings planning all kinds of mischief, and her running off to tell her mother. A short, bitter laugh spilled from Sansa's lips. Her life had been so perfect in hindsight. But she couldn't wait to grow up. She couldn't wait to sit with the adults, drink wine and act as if she knew what she was doing. She _couldn't wait_ to become Queen, live in her fairytale castle and be known and loved by everyone.

 _I was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid._

Eventually, her tears dried and the shaking subsided. All of a sudden, Sansa became painfully aware Clegane hadn´t said anything for minutes, waiting silently until she pull herself together.

 _He must think I´m going crazy._ But never before had she seen thing so clearly.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa straightened and smoothed out her dress to busy her trembling hands, her gaze still directed to the floor. How did it come to pass that the Hound witnessed every low point in her life so far, she wondered. Would there ever be a time when she could impress him rather than spark his pity?

"I´m sorry. You must be so sick of my crying by now," she apologized, clearly embarrassed.

Sandor took some time to answer, and when he did, it almost escaped her notice.

"Yeah, I am," he rasped darkly, the finality in his words gut-wrenching.

It was barely audible, but _loaded_ with meaning. She looked up, shocked by the assumed insult, but when her eyes met his, her uncertainty blew out in an instant. For the first time since she knew him, the raw anger that was always in his eyes had disappeared, making way for something else. Instead, his dark grey eyes were soft and full of sorrow, as if seeing her hurt was equally painful for him.

"Better?" he interrupted her musings, his voice still low and somewhat soothing.

She nodded absently and moved to hand back his handkerchief, but he gently closed his mailed fist around her fingers and shook his head absently.

"Keep it," he dismissed the issue, and she felt herself reminded of another handkerchief, of words that hung unspoken in the air this time too. _'You'll be needing that again.'_

"Come. I´ll bring you back to your chambers," he said instead and moved aside to clear the entry.

With a sad smile, Sansa tucked the fabric into her sleeve.

"Thank you," she breathed and stepped out of the alcove into the empty hallway. Clegane followed on her heels and fell in step with her. When Sansa stayed at his left side, he seemed to grow uncomfortable. His whole stance grew stiff, shoulders and back unnaturally tense, and he held his head low, hiding behind the long strands of hair he always combed over his scars. _He doesn_ _'_ _t want to be seen. Just like me when Joffrey is around._ She could sense his discomfort at having her face his ruined side, and her heart went out for him. _It must be so brutal to have your biggest insecurity on display for everyone to see,_ she mused with empathy. When they reached a corner, he tried to drop back a little and switch sides. But she instantly slowed down, thwarting him in the process. He tried a second time at the next corner, but found himself tricked again. It seemed to unnerve him, Sansa noticed, and she felt a little guilty at the realization. But she was trying to make a point, and so she scraped her courage together, determined to see this out. When he tried for the third time, she quickly grasped his left elbow. A jolt went through his body as he stopped dead in his tracks, forcing her to do the same.

"Please," she pleaded softly, her red–rimmed eyes searching his, gaze never wavering. "I´m a bit shaky. Would you mind if we link arms?"

His eyes grew wide and he appeared to be at a loss for words. He seemed so out of his comfort zone, Sansa couldn't help but wonder if she was the first woman who wanted to link arms with him. When she came to the conclusion that she probably _was_ , she decidedly tugged at his mail-covered arm. At last, he lowered it with a grunt and Sansa quickly slipped her palm in the bend of his elbow. They stood there for a short moment, as if contemplating how to proceed, before he pulled her back into motion. A warm feeling of triumph filled Sansa's chest, as they gingerly took their first steps together.

Slower now, they headed for her quarters. He seemed to be even more tense than before, uneasiness radiating from him. She felt horribly guilty for making him uncomfortable. Desperate to distract him, she pondered how to continue their conversation, her own misery suddenly forgotten. She seized the first thing that came to her mind.

"How is Stranger?"

The Hound glanced quickly at her before staring ahead again. A muscle on his chin twitched, and Sansa wondered if she was trying his patience.

"Better," he answered shortly.

 _Well, so much for that._

"That´s good to hear." she replied sheepishly, her courage wavering. Normally, he was the more talkative one of the both of them. In fact, in most of their encounters, he had spoken way more than her. Maybe her little plot was not such a great idea after all... Had she overstepped his boundaries? Did the arm-linking bother him so much? Was it cruel to force herself on him in such a way?

"Arranged a change in stables. Ladybird´s in the box next to him now. Keeps him calm and occupied," he offered suddenly, his words jolting her out of her musings. Her face brightened as she listened eagerly.

"Oh, that´s smart. And it will save you a lot of time... Do they like each other?"

At that, he gave her a low, gruff laugh. "Could say so. He spends his time drooling over her. Already jealous when someone else comes nearby. And she´s no better, giving him the eye and all."

Sansa fought the urge to giggle, surprised by the merriment bubbling up in her. "Sounds promising. They'd have fine foals. Will you breed them?"

"I don't pre-plan ahead of this week, little bird," he answered, suddenly earnest.

Sansa lowered her gaze bashfully, her heart constricting in her chest. Of course. The upcoming battle. How could she forget?

"Oh... right. I´m sorry I..."

"Stop apologizing," he cut her short, but his dismissive words held unspoken words again. _It´s not your fault. You have other things on your mind._

A short silence followed, in which Sansa desperately searched her exhausted mind for something to say. Thankfully, he was ahead of her.

"However, if the decision were up to _them_ , they'd probably start right away." The muscle on his marred chin twitched again, and she recognized it as one of his rare half-smiles.

Sansa couldn't help it; she laughed in response. It was a short, but genuine laugh, accompanied by a delicate blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Sounds like a marriage made in heaven," she answered without much thought, before berating herself inwardly for her flowery language. But if Clegane disliked her choice of words, he didn't show it.

"They certainly think they are, little bird," he grumbled almost good-naturally. "Might be I'll take them to the paddock the next few days. Stranger's bursting with energy. I hope she'll keep him from harming himself. If I put him there alone, he´ll might go straight through the fence. But I doubt he´d go anywhere as long as his girl is around. Could backfire though."

With amazement, Sansa noted how the talking seemed to ease him considerably. The more words spilled from his lips, the more he seemed to relax. His burns ceased their twitching, his shoulders sank lower and the arm she was holding one grew lighter, swaying slightly with their steps.

"I´d love to see that. I´ll pray she keeps having a good influence on him."

Suddenly a group of idly chattering washerwomen crossed the hallway some steps ahead of them, cutting their conversation short. It was an unspoken agreement they couldn't act friendly in front of witnesses, so they stayed silent until the women were out of sight, each engrossed in their own thoughts. Once they were alone, Sansa spoke up again.

"I couldn't help but notice _Ser_ Boros' face earlier. I almost didn't recognize him," she started a little warily, making a vague gesture to her nose. "I heard talk that you bested him in the training yard. Was that really you?"

Clegane shot her a sceptical look before answering. "Aye. Little shit had it coming. Boasting about what a great swordsman he is. Reminded him Stannis won´t send defenceless little girls against us."

If it weren't so presumptuous, Sansa would have thanked him. Instead, she squeezed the hand cupping his arm, unknowing if he could even feel the gesture through the layers of thick leather and mail.

"Won´t you get in trouble for that?" she asked, sincerely concerned.

But the Hound simply shook his head and gave her a mirthless laugh.

"No. Joffrey thought it hilarious as fuck. He told him to take it as a lesson in defence."

Sansa wrinkled her nose. That sounded _exactly_ like something Joffrey would say.

"Well, I´m certain _Ser Bulldog_ won´t forget that particular lesson anytime soon," Sansa concluded with little sympathy.

Sandor snorted. "More like Ser Pug. He is no more than one of Cersei's lapdogs... But aye, he won´t."

They reached her chambers quicker than expected, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could somehow occupy his attention for a little longer. She didn´t feel ready to let him go just yet. But she had already achieved so much today, and with a heavy heart decided against straining her luck further. While she untangled herself carefully from him, she searched for his eyes.

"Thank you. I know I´m thanking you a lot lately but... thank you," she whispered, allowing a tiny smile to tug on her lips.

He seemed to grow uncomfortable once again under her steady gaze. Instead of answering, he simply nodded, turned the knob to her door and gently ushered her inside.

Roused by the creaking of the heavy oak door, Shae immediately sprang up and hurried towards her charge. She was obviously anxious, and Sansa's heart filled with warmth. Honestly, without Shae, she´d thrown herself from the battlements already.

"Are you hurt? What happened?"

The handmaiden scanned Sansa from head to toe, her eyes lingering on her red-rimmed eyes. Then, her eyes settled on the Hound, who met her accusing gaze completely unfazed.

"Take care of your lady. She had a most upsetting breakfast," he sneered at the Lorathi. Gone was the man who had dried her tears and whispered gentle words of reassurance. But Sansa knew now. She knew he was somewhere in there, well hidden behind his gruff demeanour and scary exterior. And hopefully, he would let him come to the surface again. She had a distinctive feeling she hadn´t seen all of Sandor Clegane yet. By far.

As if on cue, his gaze flickered over her once more, and Sansa wondered if there was something else he wanted to say. But then he turned abruptly and left without another word.

As soon as the door snapped in, Shae led her to her bed and started to pester her with questions. Sansa lost no time to put her in the picture. The handmaiden's colour came and went as Sansa recapped what had happened. When she finished, the Lorathi paced up and down in front of her, cursing and muttering under her breath, until her rage subsided somewhat.

"This little son of a whore. If I ever get hold of him... But as much as I hate to admit it, he is right in one thing," Shae sighed as she finally sunk on the bed next to her. "We need to talk, Sansa."

"About what?"

"Sex," the handmaiden stated bluntly.

Sansa cringed at the crass word. Shae chose to ignore her antics.

"You are a woman now. They could marry you off at any moment. Believe me, you will thank me when the time comes and you know what to expect," the handmaiden argued.

"My septa already told me about... _it."_

Shae snorted. "Girl, believe me when I say, sex is very different from what your _septa_ told you."

"Maybe, I won't have to marry. If Stannis wins..." Sansa started meekly.

"Don't be daft, Sansa. No matter who wins, you will be held as a hostage. Do you think Stannis will set you free and send you home? He is fighting for his claim to be king, same as your brother. And you are the ticket to the North, girl. _Should_ your brother die, the man that marries you will hold Winterfell by right. _Should_ Stannis win this battle, he could set his barren hag of a wife aside, marry you and make a huge step to end this war."

Sansa's eyes widened in shock. "He wouldn´t! He is way too old for me. And it is said he is a man of honour. He won´t leave his wife over me."

Shae gave a mirthless laugh. "They never think they are too old for a woman. You are young, beautiful and the heir to Winterfell. His brothers are dead and he has no heirs himself but a sickly, disfigured girl. A son would be just what he needs to calm his bannerman and secure his claim for good. He would be a fool to not at least consider it."

"Robb wouldn't allow it," the redhead whispered, but it sounded unconvinced.

"Your brother would have precious little choice. He got into this war to fight the Lannisters. With Joffrey gone, he could step back from his claim and try to make peace with Stannis. They could defeat Tywin Lannister for good and be done with this war. But if Stannis has any brains, he will not let you go once you are in his grasp. You´d be the perfect pawn to secure peace with the North. And should your brother and Stannis not come to terms, then your fate would be sealed anyways."

"But... should Robb win, he..."

"...would marry you off to one of his bannerman. You'd probably be given a choice, but they would pressure him until he does. No matter who wins this war, you will be married, and it will happen sooner rather than later," Shae finished for her heatedly.

Sansa let the flood of information sink in. She´d never really thought of the different scenarios, and the realization of what awaited her brought new, hot tears to her eyes. Shae took the cue and drew her in a gentle embrace.

"Sansa, I don't want to frighten you. But you need to be prepared. Anything can happen these days," she spoke gently, as she rocked her back and forth.

"You are right. It´s just so unfair. I will never have a real choice of my own. Someone will always use me for his own benefits. I'm no more than cattle." the girl whispered bitterly. "I dreamed of becoming queen one day. I thought it was all about love and kindness and pretty things. Gods, how foolish I was. Now I wish I were just nobody."

" _Nobodies_ are starving on the streets and will very likely be the first to die. At least you are safer than most," Shae interjected gently.

Sansa sighed in defeat. "You are right. As always."

"Of course I am. But with what I´m going to teach you, you might change your fate for the better some day. There is a reason why women take great pride in being good in bed. It´s probably the only place where women hold more power than men... We can start right away."

Sansa didn't look too comfortable at the prospect, but nodded her head nonetheless. While she had no interest in the act yet, it couldn´t hurt to gather some information. She would certainly need it someday.

Turned out when Shae said right away, she meant it.

"Okay. So, what do you know of sex?"

Sansa flushed dark red as she recited what she remembered from her septa's lessons. That it was a duty, only meant to conceive children and nothing to be enjoyed. That she´d be ready to have children when she´d had her first moonblood. And that it would hurt, at first. Maybe always.

Shae groaned. "Gods, that's even worse than I expected. Let me guess, you never even touched yourself?"

Sansa gasped mortified. "Of course not! My septa said it´s forbidden. And that I... ah.. could ruin myself."

The handmaiden sighed dramatically. "Don´t worry, it´s not your fault. I´ll fill you in. It´s a good thing I paid a visit to the kitchens earlier. Because as it happens, I unwittingly brought some demonstration material."

With suspicion, Sansa eyed Shae as the handmaiden snatched a small fruit bowl from the table.

"For educational purposes only," the Lorathi winked. "Let´s see what we have here. We need something phallic. Ah, that´s perfect. Now, for the female part... nope. Nah. Hah! Wait, I just have to cut this in half before we start." And off she went, leaving the princess of Winterfell wondering what she had gotten herself into.

* * *

Sansa learned a lot that day, concerning a variety of things.

She learned Robb and his army must be somewhere near the Riverlands, information Joffrey had gifted her in his infinite thoughtlessness. When he had her beaten for Robb's victory, nobody bothered to tell her where the battle had been fought. Not that she could use this to her advantage, but it was reassuring. _He is on his way. Robb is coming._ _ **Winter**_ _is coming._

She found out Sandor Clegane smelled like the North and was rather good at comforting, although she doubted he was aware of it. Sansa wouldn't go as far as to say he was just a misunderstood giant plush toy, waiting for someone to hug him. But she was convinced he was more human than most people at court.

And she came to know Shae had a vast knowledge when it came to _interpersonal relationships._ As a result, Sansa would never look at bananas and papayas the same way again.


End file.
